Page 2 of Moonlit Temptation

I blink, a prolonged sweep of my lashes until the image of my boss clears in front of me.

“I'm sorry, Evangeline. Truly, I am. But I didn't want you to have to rush back from your grandmother's funeral—”

“Reading of the will,” I interrupt.

Her head tilts back a little, to the left. “Pardon?”

I clear my throat and look at the Executive Project Manager for Residential Interior Design, Tasha Powers. Mid-thirties with a killer wardrobe. Classic and preppy, like most of the firm. And my boss.

Ex-boss now, I guess.

“My grandmother passed away a year ago.” She had already planned all the details for her celebration of life. She said funerals were dreadful affairs that bummed everyone out. So she requested an event with live music, sparkling champagne, and fancy hors d'oeuvres,” I answer, almost absently.

“Okay,” Tasha says slowly, her brows crinkling in confusion.

I clear my throat quickly. “But the reading of Nana Jo's will was set for exactly a year after her death. Which is this weekend.”

It had been a point of contention in my family since last year. Nana Jo's passing wasn't sudden, and she never shied away from the conversation of what would happenafter. No matter how many times I tried to change the subject.

In some ways, it was an absolute blessing to have more time with her. I wouldn't change those days and memories for anything. But in other ways, I feel like we've all been in limbo for years, existing on borrowed time. Nana Jo's time ran out last year.

And we're all still stuck in the quicksand of limbo.

Until tomorrow.

My mom had been fighting hard for a more traditional Catholic funeral, despite what my grandma wanted. Kept demanding Nana Jo’s will be executed sooner. Thankfully, my aunt was upholding Nana Jo's wishes valiantly. My mother is an obstacle on the easiest days and a downright terror when she doesn't get her way. Everyone chalks it up to her profession.

She made her career getting what she wants. She's a political animal and has never backed down from a fight. Ever.

Tasha spreads her hands open from their clasped position in front of her and offers me a grimaced smile. “Right, well. I don't want to keep you from that. So please accept my apology for the timing, but the partners have decided to terminate your contract early.”

I wet my lips, tasting the butterscotch gloss I coated over the top of Pillow Talk lipstick. Nana Jo gave it to me a month before she passed away. I've worn it so much since then, it's become my signature color. It's not the first lipstick she gave me, but it will always be thelastone.

An unfamiliar emotion settles around my breastbone, sinking tiny tendrils of shame into my bones. I've never been fired before, not that I've had that many jobs in my life. But out of the generous handful, this is the first time I'm leaving on their terms.

My mouth is open, the question leaving my lips before I've thought it through.

“Is this about the Rothschild account? Because I informed Mrs. Rothschild that I'd be—”

Tasha holds up her hand, palm facing me to halt the word vomit I was about to unleash. She lowered her hand back to the desk between us, and her shoulders lost some of their tension. “No. It's not about that. The partners have decided that your unique eye doesn't quite . . . fit in with thisparticularfirm. But we wish you the best of luck in all your endeavors.”

She pauses the recycled phrases and overused speech and looks at me, pity tugging down the corners of her eyes making her expression soft. I hate that look.

It's the same one my teachers wore every time my parents bailed on an event in high school. It's the same one my grandma had when she found out my sister and mom went to Mexico during my birthday. Without me.

I straighten my shoulders and hold my head up high, just like I've done my whole life. I nod once, a swift dip of my chin and lean forward, sticking my hand out for a handshake.

“Thank you, Tasha. It's been a pleasure working with you these last six months.”

She slips her hand in mine, and just like that, I'm out of a job.

I leave Tasha's office, stopping by my cubicle to gather my things. Someone conveniently placed a banker box on top of my desk, which I'm choosing to take as kindness at this point. The office is quiet, which isn't uncommon since we’re often in and out meeting clients.

But I can feel their eyes on me through the back of my dress. It's the color of faded, fuzzy peaches with a gorgeous embroidered white floral pattern and chiffon puffy sleeves.

It's not the kind of dress you get fired in. It's the kind you're wearing when you meet your soulmate.

The dress that sparks the great love affair of your life.

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